


August 2018

by babybrotherdean



Series: 365 challenge: 2018 [8]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Witch Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-27 22:25:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 14,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16228535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrotherdean/pseuds/babybrotherdean
Summary: Collection of 365 ficlets for the month of August.





	1. Two-Hundred Thirteen: If I lay here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean closes his eyes and pretends that things are easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to Chasing Cars and this was the mood it put me in.

Dean closes his eyes and pretends that things are easy.

He doesn’t let himself think about how long it’ll be until Dad gets home, or the state he’ll be in when he shows up. He doesn’t think about the monsters that hide in the shadows, forever a hair’s breadth away from tearing his life apart all over again. He doesn’t think about the fear he feels, constant and unending, at the possibility of losing what little he has left. It’s too easy to get lost in it all, and sometimes- sometimes he just-

“Dean?”

Sam’s voice is small, and when Dean doesn’t speak, he feels the mattress shift with his brother’s weight. A moment of shuffling, and then a small, warm body tucks up against his own, curling in close. A perfect fit, like always. “You okay?”

Dean curls his arm around Sam and breathes out slow. He doesn’t open his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, just as quiet. The only sound besides his brother’s breathing is the low hum of the radiator, white noise that makes it a little easier to ground himself. Sam’s pretty good at helping him with that, too. “Just… need a minute.”

Sam’s quiet for a moment, then presses in a little closer. Dean feels Sam’s nose tuck up under his chin, and it’s comfortable. Familiar. “Okay,” Sam says, and his lips brush Dean’s skin and help settle him. “Can I stay?”

“Yeah.” Another breath, and Dean counts the number of things in the world that anchor him like this. The car. Dad. Sammy. “Please.”

They don’t talk anymore, and Sam’s breathing brings Dean back down to Earth. It makes it so much easier to forget about everything that’s horrible and wrong, and to remember how to function again. How to hold his little brother close without fearing everything that could go bad, come tomorrow.

Dean’s head quiets down, and he presses his nose into Sam’s hair. Maybe he could fall asleep like this and let everything go for just a little while longer.

“Love you,” Sam tells him in a whisper, like it’s a secret. “Love you, Dean.”

It’s all too much to handle, sometimes, but Sam always makes things a little bit easier. A little bit safer. In a world that constantly threatens to overwhelm him, Dean will take whatever he can get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	2. Two-Hundred Fourteen: Out of place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean follows Sam to Stanford.

Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this place.

California is nice. It’s warm, for the most part. The people seem happier than not. The college campus, especially, seems to be chock-full of people who want to be his friend; it feels like he can’t so much as run out for groceries without somebody chatting him up. It’s far from what he’s used to, but he tries to adjust. He tries.

Sam fits in like he was always meant to be here. He’s already enrolled in classes and found himself a part-time job on top of that; the kid is thriving, and Dean is quietly grateful that he managed to get here. Sam deserves the world, and right now, that’s Stanford. This is what Sam needs right now, and Dean’s happy that he has it.

It doesn’t make the adjusting thing any easier.

“You can sit in on one of my lectures,” Sam suggests. It’s not the first time. “Just one. You’ll like it, I promise.”

They share an apartment, the two of them, and more often than not, Dean feels a little bit like a parasite. Like he’s latched himself onto his brother since coming here and doesn’t know how to exist by himself. He’s got a job of his own, too, but outside of that, he’s shut himself in. The world is a scary place, and he’s been yanked away from everything familiar, including the other living half of his family. Right now, Dean’s at the table, going over a rough outline of a budget to give himself something to do while Sam goes to class, and he’s already shaking his head.

“Not my thing, Sam,” he says simply, because that should be the end of the conversation. He won’t tell his brother how much he doesn’t fit in here, or how much he wishes he never had to leave this room. “You go geek out. I’ll be here when you get home.”

Sam ‘s expression is one of disappointment before he says goodbye, and Dean fights not to let it affect him. He came to California to support his brother; to be here with him while they worked out some semblance of a normal life together. It should be easy, he thinks, and maybe it would be if it weren’t for the constant, nagging voice in his head, or the impulse to pick up the phone and call Dad, or the nightmares-

Dean snaps the pencil he’s holding in half and puts the budget aside for now.

He’ll get used to this eventually. This far down the line, he doesn’t have any other choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	3. Two-Hundred Fifteen: Messy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s messy, and it’s rough, and Dean doesn’t have the headspace to want it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Messy Wincest and. things.

It’s messy, and it’s rough, and Dean doesn’t have the headspace to want it any other way.

He thinks his lip might be bleeding, but it’s hard to tell between the taste of Sam’s mouth and the way his brother’s got him pressed up against the wall, the power struggle already over as they press into each other. Maybe it’s the adrenaline left over from the case they’ve just wrapped up, maybe it’s a hint of withdrawal after too many days without, but Dean just-

“Fuck,” he mumbles when Sam bites just a little too hard, but it just fuels the thing between them, and between one breath and the next, they’re moving, stumbling towards the bed. Sam’s fingers dig into his shirt, quick and nimble even as they fumble with buttons, and Dean nearly trips over his own feet. “Sam, Dad’s-”

“I don’t care,” Sam says into his mouth, and the shower’s running, and they don’t have much time, but Sam’s a stubborn bastard and maybe there’s a part of him that wants to get caught. Dean doesn’t know what to think, sometimes, with the way those two butt heads, like maybe Sam hopes their dad walks in and sees this horrible thing they’ve been hiding from him, but it doesn’t matter. Not right now, and not as long as the water keeps running, keeps them safe-

Dean hits the mattress harder than he means to and the breath is driven out of his chest. It doesn’t slow either of them down, and Sam climbs right into his lap, almost bigger than him now and as hungry as he’s always been, his lips finding Dean’s pulse point and latching on, sucking hard-

“Sam,” he hisses, and his hands tighten on his brother’s hips, bruising. Bruising because the water isn’t running anymore, and Dad’s in the next room, and maybe Sam doesn’t care if they get caught, but. “Sam, stop-”

And Sam makes a frustrated sound, and he lingers an extra second, but he pulls away and hops up from Dean’s lap just in time for Dad to open the bathroom door. His hair’s wet and he’s not looking at either of them; Dean’s thankful for the moment it gives him to get himself sorted out. Clears his throat and glances away and hopes his dad doesn’t pay too much attention to him until he can calm down a bit.

“Boys,” Dad greets absently, and neither of them respond.

Dean can still feel the electricity in the air, and he wonders if Sam feels it, too. If their father will pick up on it one day and put a stop to all this.

If Sam keeps pushing the way he is now, it’s only a matter of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	4. Two-Hundred Sixteen: Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You really don’t ever think about leaving?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angsty brothers.

“You really don’t ever think about leaving?”

Sam’s voice is soft, and Dean keeps his eyes closed. He pretends to be asleep, but knows his brother is not fooled. Their father rests in the bed opposite; still fast asleep and oblivious to their conversation. When it becomes obvious that Sam is expecting an answer, Dean sighs. “No. Not really.”

It’s mostly the truth. Sure, he’s had dreams of living something normal. Something safe. He knows better than to try to will them into reality, though.

At his side, Sam doesn’t share the same cynicism. He’s curled in close, still firing perfectly under Dean’s arm the way he always has, and he’s warm under the blankets. “Not even a little bit? To have a family or- or whatever?”

Dean sighs and pulls Sam closer. “Just… don’t think about that stuff, okay? Get some sleep.”

“But-” Sam hesitates, shifting closer and resting his cheek on Dean’s chest. “What about school? Or… you really don’t want a family? Ever?”

Dean stays quiet for a moment, then presses a kiss to the top of Sam’s head. “You’re the only family I need.”

Sam doesn’t talk after that, and within a few minutes, Dean hears his breathing even out. He allows himself to relax after that, making an effort to put the thoughts Sam’s brought up out of his mind.

He can’t afford to think about that. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to stay sane if he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	5. Two-Hundred Seventeen: Piggyback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean thinks he might be a little tipsy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dumb, flirty boys.

Dean thinks he might be a little tipsy. He’s only had a couple of beers, but they’re out under the stars and he’s giddy, all laughter as he holds his brother’s hand and lets Sam lead him up towards an old lookout point. It’ll be romantic, Sam had told him in all seriousness, but his smile had betrayed his excitement and it spreads to Dean now. It’s not a long walk, and he tugs Sam closer.

“Hey, don’t rush,” he hums, and then brightens when he gets an idea. “You- you should get on my back. Like when you were little, right?”

And maybe Sam will always be little to him, and maybe he’s grown a fair bit since he was seven, but he still lights up at the suggestion, and Dean thinks maybe his brother’s had a few sips too many, too. But he turns around and he bends his knees, and he waits for Sam to climb onto him before starting to stagger forwards again, laughing and holding on tight to Sam’s legs around his hips and hoping he doesn’t send them both rolling down this hill.

“You got smaller,” Sam accuses when they’re almost there, and he rests his chin on Dean’s shoulder. “You definitely shrunk.”

“Did not,” Dean huffs at him, but he still can’t quite wipe the smile off his face and when they crest the top of the hill, it grows. They’ve got a view of the whole town from up here and with the sun already set and everything lit up below them, it’s beautiful. “You just got big.”

Sam doesn’t respond to that, and Dean thinks maybe he’s just as taken aback by the view. Slowly, Dean sets his brother down on his own two feet, and then they’re holding hands again, sobering up in the content silence between them.

“Worth the hike,” Dean hums, and when he turns his head, Sam’s looking at him, soft under the starlight. He isn’t sure who leans in first, but then they’re kissing, Dean’s eyes slipping shut to focus entirely on Sam. His taste, his scent, the feeling of his hand still held tight in Dean’s. It’s all-consuming and that’s exactly the way Dean likes it.

“Worth it,” Sam mumbles against his lips when they stop to catch their breath, and Dean smiles. Softer, teasing. “Told you so.”

Whatever else happens between them, they’ll always be brothers. The reminder shouldn’t be as comforting as it is, but Dean chooses not to question it. Things are always easier that way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	6. Two-Hundred Eighteen: Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared knows to take his time with this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soft J2.

Jared knows to take his time with this. He knows to be gentle, and he knows to go slow, because the very last thing he wants is to scare Jensen away.

It’s in all the little things that he knows Jensen gets overwhelmed, when he pulls back and closes up because he doesn’t know how to handle it all at once. He’s seen it with his own eyes, and as soon as he understands why-

He’s got one of Jensen’s hands in his, and his lips are pressed to Jensen’s skin. One knuckle at a time, little butterfly kisses that make Jensen’s breath hitch, that make him tremble. It makes Jared’s heart ache in the best way, and it makes him want to protect this man from the rest of the world. From everything that could ever hurt him.

“Jared,” Jensen says quietly, and his voice is thick, and Jared looks up at him, lingering over his ring finger. One day, he thinks. “You don’t- you don’t have to-”

“Yeah, I do.” Jared stays right where he is, and he waits until Jensen meets his eyes to press another feather-soft kiss to the back of his hand. Slowly, he stands, and Jensen watches him like a deer caught in the headlights, still sitting in the edge of the bed. “Do you trust me?”

And Jensen watches him, and he stays quiet for a few seconds, but then he nods, very slowly. “I… yeah. Yeah, of course I do.”

So Jared smiles, and he leans in until his lips find Jensen’s, careful and slow. He feels the way that Jensen opens up for him, tentatively trusting, and he breathes that in, chest warm with how much he cares about the man in front of him.

He’s willing to be patient for this. He’s willing to wait a thousand years if that’s how long it takes; if that’s how long it takes Jensen to be his completely.

He isn’t going to give up on this. Not now. Not ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	7. Two-Hundred Nineteen: Puddles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of a summer rainstorm, the path home from school has been completely soaked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another silly, soft Weechester thing featuring piggybacks.

In the aftermath of a summer rainstorm, the path home from school has been completely soaked. It’s the quickest way back to the motel, cutting through the small forest the schoolyard backs onto, but approaching it now, Dean makes a face. His brother is tight at his side, and Dean reaches out with one foot to toe at the muddy ground before him, earning himself a wet squelch as his shoe sinks into it.

“Gross,” Sam grumbles, and Dean gives him a sidelong glance to see a matching look of distaste on his brother’s face. The kid can be real prissy about some stuff, and as of late, his personal belongings seem to top the list. Like the few clothes he’s claimed himself; the ones that aren’t just Dean’s hand-me-downs. Like the shoes he wears now; secondhand, but picked out on his own from the local Sally Ann a few towns back. Scuffed-up and good for playing outside, but Dean can’t really blame his brother for not wanting to soak them in the mudbath that lies before them.

“You wanna walk the long way?” Dean asks, skeptical, because that’s almost as bad. “C'mon, don’t you have that big history project to finish? You need all the time you can get, and that means taking the shortcut. Even if it’s gross.”

Sam’s still got that look on his face, though, and as Dean watches him, he quickly comes to the conclusion that Sam isn’t going to walk through the mud without throwing a bitchfit of epic proportions, and probably sulking for the rest of the week. He also knows that walking around the forest, on the road, is going to be a pain.

He doesn’t have a whole lot of options.

With a heavy sigh, he turns his back to Sam and bends his knees. The kid isn’t exactly feather-light anymore, but he’s still smaller than Dean, and still scrawny for his age. Thank god the growth spurts haven’t hit quite yet. “C'mon. Let’s go.”

He’s met with quizzical silence before he feels Sam’s hands on his shoulders, tentative. A moment later, and his brother hops up onto his back, legs hooking around Dean’s waist, and Dean grunts as he adjusts to the weight, straightening up to make sure he doesn’t overbalance and end up face-first in the mud. Soon enough, he’s sorted himself out, and he gets his arms under Sam’s legs, making sure he’s got a good grip.

“You good?” he asks as he starts walking, already wincing as he steps into the mud. He’s not particularly attached to these shoes, but he can already tell his feet will be soaked by the time they get home. “Oh, hey, how’d your trig test go today? Easy as you were hoping?”

Just like that, they fall into a normal conversation. Sam clings to his back like a baby koala, and Dean keeps his eyes on the ground in front of him; the last thing he wants to do is slip and land them both in the mud. He takes his time for the same reason, cautious, but genuinely enjoying the time with his brother. Sam chats away about the day he’s had, the homework he’s got to finish tonight, a girl he’s become friends with- it’s white noise, and it’s everything that Dean could ever need to know: his brother is happy, and that’s the most important thing in the world.

Even after they pass the worst of the mud, Dean keeps Sam right where he is, fully committed to this now and seeing no reason to set Sam back down on his own two feet. It’s kind of nice, even; a little throwback to their younger years when Sam would beg for piggyback rides until Dean gave in and carried him wherever he wanted to go. They’ve both done some growing up since then, and they’re all the better for it, but sometimes, Dean wishes things could still be that simple.

“Dean?” Sam asks when they’re almost home, and it pulls him out of his thoughts. “You, um- you didn’t have to… y'know.” A moment of quiet, and then, softer. “Thanks.”

Dean smiles and hoists Sam a little higher on his back. The motel is close now, but he intends to carry Sam right to their room, until he has to set his brother down to pull out the keys. He’s taking this moment for whatever he can get out of it, as long as he can possibly make it last. “Don’t mention it, kiddo.”

Sam’s arms tighten where they rest around Dean’s neck, a little less like he’s holding on for his own safety and a little more like he’s giving Dean a hug. Dean’s heart warms with it, and his smile grows.

He can stand to carry his brother around on occasion. Even if it’s just for the sake of saving him from muddy shoes. This, he thinks, is absolutely worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	8. Two-Hundred Twenty: Witch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn’t like being so far out of his element.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first of a little witch!Sam series.

Dean doesn’t like being so far out of his element. He’s alone, hiking through an old forest on the way to meet up with a potential ally, and he can already feel a shift in the air as he gets closer to the cabin. Things feel just a hair’s breadth different here in a way that’s impossible to identify; like he’s slipped into some parallel dimension between one footstep and the next, and he doesn’t like it one bit. Not the way that the air tastes a little bit sweet. Not the way that the leaves on the trees overhead seem to glow faintly, as though the sun shines directly through them, despite the late hour. Certainly not the oppressive silence of the place, broken only by his own clumsy footsteps.

He’s starting to wonder if he’s been given faulty directions when he finally lays eyes on the cabin; a rustic thing that looks as if it’s grown straight out of the earth below. Its walls are laden with ivies, and it’s hard to make out the place where the forest floor ends and the wooden foundation begins; Dean’s stuck staring for a few moments before he’s able to shake himself out of it. No matter how badly out of place he feels here, he’s run out of options, and he needs to make this meeting. Too many lives depend on it.

Taking a deep breath, he approaches the house and steps up onto the small porch. The wood creaks gently under his weight, but feels surprisingly study, all the same. From there, it’s a quick two steps to the front door, and he doesn’t let himself hesitate before knocking. Somebody must be home; the windows emit a warm light, though it’s hard to make out anything past them. Some kind of cloaking spell, maybe. More likely, he just can’t see past the glare of firelight.

Whatever the case, his attention is drawn to the door once more as he hears some shuffling around on the other side of it. A moment later, it’s opened before him, and Dean- Dean can’t help but stare.

A boy stands before him, surely only a couple of years younger than Dean. Soft, chestnut hair that falls over his forehead and curls around his ears. Sharp features that speak of approaching adulthood, though he still clings to a boyish innocence. Tall. Simple clothes; a light tunic that’s cinched at the waist.

His eyes are what draw Dean in the most, though. Golden. Shining, soft in the light. Something not quite human.

“Hi,” the boy says, and Dean remembers that he’s here for a reason. An important one. “Can I help you?”

Dean clears his throat and tries to focus once more, blinking out of his reverie. “Um… my name is Dean. Dean Winchester. I was looking for- um-”

“Mary?” The boy speaks up before Dean can sort his thoughts out enough to finish. Dean must look as helpless as he feels, but he still manages to nod. “She isn’t home. I might be able to help you, though.”

Dean doesn’t quite know what to say to that. He’s come a long damn way to seek out the most powerful hunter-friendly witch in the country, and to learn that she’s suddenly missing- “I need her. It’s important.”

The boy tilts his head, watching Dean thoughtfully for a moment. “Dean Winchester,” he repeats, just soft. “You’re a hunter, aren’t you? They’re usually the ones who come looking for her.”

No sense in lying. “Yeah,” he replies, and then, “who are you, anyways?”

“I’m Sam.” He smiles, and maybe it’s Dean’s imagination, but his eyes seem to glow just a little brighter. “And Mary’s my mother.”

It explains some things, but still doesn’t help. Dean lets out a soft breath and glances away, because watching Sam’s face is just a little bit overwhelming. “I need her help,” he says, frustration creeping through. “I just- it’s…”

“Do you need her?” Sam’s tone is a curious one, and Dean looks up to see a matching expression on his face. A tiny smile creeps in, next, and it’s- it’s a good look on him. Dean tries not to linger on that thought. Sam steps back and gestures behind him, an unspoken invitation. “Or do you need a witch?”

With no other options on the table, Dean takes a deep breath and steps into the cabin. He doesn’t know exactly what to expect, but it’s a hard offer to refuse.

Sam’s smile is just a touch mischievous. Dean pretends not to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	9. Two-Hundred Twenty-One: Hunter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The very first thing that Sam notices about this hunter is his age.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Witch!Sam continued. :>

The very first thing that Sam notices about this hunter is his age. Most of the men and women who come by to see his mother are well into their thirties or forties; gruff and hardened and sure of themselves in their violent little worlds. Sometimes, they come in on the younger side of the scale, but this one- Dean can’t be older than twenty-five.

It shows, in some of the ways he acts. As Sam leads him inside, Dean’s looking around with a clear sense of wonder; Sam usually doesn’t see that in the older ones. Not entirely disillusioned by the horrors of the world, but still subconsciously looking for exits. Threats. Typical hunter behaviour.

“So… Sam?” He sounds uncertain of himself, too. Sam wonders, once more, exactly what’s brought him here; by the sound of things, it can’t be anything good. It rarely is, with hunters. “You, um- you’re a…?”

“A witch.” Sam responds without looking over, already headed to the small kettle they keep and getting it going. He knows how to be a good host. “Do you want some tea?”

“Uh- sure, I guess.” Dean clears his throat, and by the sound of things, he’s stopped just inside the door. Maybe overwhelmed; cluttered would not be an inaccurate description of Sam’s home. There’s organization within the chaos, but to an outside eye, he knows it must seem like a lot. “So you think you can help me?”

Sam shrugs. He certainly doesn’t intend on making any promises yet. He’s been raised smarter. “That depends on what you need.”

Dean’s silent for a long few moments, and Sam gets the tea ready. Something soothing; it’s impossible to miss the anxiety that comes off of Dean in waves. An unfamiliar place, a stressful situation, a potential threat in the form of a stranger. Sam can’t blame him. Given more time and proximity, he could probably tease more details out of Dean’s aura, but for now, he works with what he has.

Eventually, Dean speaks up again. “It’s, uh- a tracking spell.” A long pause before he elaborates. “For a demon.”

A demon. That’s more than enough to pique Sam’s interest, and he finally turns around, watching Dean thoughtfully. As expected, the hunter looks nervous; he lingers by the door like he’s ready to bolt, and he shifts his weight from foot to foot. Sam decides to give him a break. “Here, come sit down. You must’ve walked a long way to get here, hm?”

Despite Dean’s initial hesitation, he follows Sam’s gesture to a soft chair by the fire; it’s hard to miss the way he sinks into the cushions right away. Probably exhausted. There are no roads that lead to this place, and much of the trip must be made on foot. Sam’s mother has told him repeated how important it is for people like them to stay out of the way, and though Sam appreciates the privacy, it can sometimes be a little maddening.

All the more reason to appreciate the little reprieve he gets from visits like this one.

“A tracking spell for a demon.” Turning back to the tea, Sam ponders that for a few moments. “I can manage that. I’ll need the demon’s name, but we should have all the other ingredients around here somewhere…”

Dean responds right away, and it has Sam stopping in his tracks, heart stuttering unevenly in his chest. “Azazel. Its name is Azazel.”

Sam’s fingers curl too tight around the handle of a mug, and he tries and fails to take a deep breath.

 _Azazel_.

“What,” Sam asks softly, not looking in Dean’s direction, “could you possibly want with him?”

Maybe this little visit will prove to be more than a break from the monotony, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	10. Two-Hundred Twenty-Two: Story Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “C'mon, get in here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cuddly baby Weechesters.

“C'mon, get in here.”

Dean’s snuggled deep into bed, one of his arms lifted expectantly as Sam wiggles his way into the cozy little spot it makes. He fits perfectly there, tucked up against Dean’s side, and Dean holds him close, getting himself good and settled as he cracks open the book he’s holding in his other hand.

It’s become a tradition; the two of them cuddling up for a little bit of reading before bed, whenever they’ve got a new book at hand and a little time to kill before they go to sleep. It’s The Hobbit tonight, and they’re a third of the way through, Dean finding their place easily within the dog-earred pages and glancing down at his brother once more.

“You want me to?” he asks, just like he always does, and as expected, Sam nods. Maybe it’s just one of the million little habits that have carried through their years together; Sam’s more than capable of reading all by himself now, but he still seems to like Dean’s voice a whole lot better. Dean’s more than happy to humour him, especially because it means they get to spend this time together; just the two of them and a whole entire world to explore within the pages of their book. No grown-ups, no monsters, no nothing. It’s him and his little brother and a whole lot of imagination.

He picks up right where they left off, keeping his voice soft because it’s late and because Sam is so close. Sam’s head comes to rest against Dean’s shoulder, and Dean thinks his brother is already starting to fall asleep, but that’s okay. Sam always falls asleep best like this, anyways, and they can always backtrack a little bit tomorrow to find their place.

Dean’s eyes are drooping, too, within a few minutes, and all he changes is his posture, bringing the two of them down to slump a little lower in bed. His eyelids are heavy, but he keeps reading, even as he has to pause for a yawn between words. Sam is soft and warm and entirely relaxed, and Dean- Dean can’t quite keep his eyes open anymore, after all.

The two of them fall asleep right there, the book open in Dean’s lap and Sam carefully tucked against him. It’s comfy, it’s safe, and Dean thinks it’s exactly what the both of them need. The most important thing in the world, maybe.

He hopes that Sam feels the same way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	11. Two-Hundred Twenty-Three: Shared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean can’t make himself sit still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to witch!Sam. Exposition and whatever.

Dean can’t make himself sit still. This place is still too alien; his eyes flit around the small cabin as if knowledge will bring comfort, but every tiny detail seems to make it worse. Odd trinkets sit on shelves and bookcases, a selection of dried herbs hang near the windows, and there’s still a strange air about it all; something that leaves Dean feeling like he’s stuck perpetually on the edge of fight or flight. It’s as overwhelming as it is distracting, and even the reminder of what brought him here in the first place barely holds his focus.

Azazel. What could you possibly want with him?

“It doesn’t matter.” Dean takes a short breath and closes his eyes for a moment. He needs to push through, and he needs to deal with this. If he can’t talk to the witch he came for, then her son is going to have to be good enough. “I just need to find him. Can you help me?”

There’s a pregnant pause, and when Dean opens his eyes again, the boy- Sam, his name is Sam- is watching him intently. Dean feels a little bit like a butterfly pinned up by its wings, stuck under the intense, golden stare, but he makes himself speak again. “Please? It’s- it’s important.”

Slowly, Sam starts towards him, picking up two steaming mugs from the table he’s been working at and bringing them over to Dean. Dean doesn’t think he’ll be drinking whatever’s inside, but it’s a nice thought. “He’s a very powerful demon,” Sam says slowly. “Why do you need to find him? What’s going on?”

Again with the questions. Dean doesn’t have time for this, his heartbeat hammering like a ticking clock against the inside of his ribcage, and he glances towards the door, anxious. Maybe it was a mistake to come all the way out here. He doesn’t have time for this. “Look, it’s- I just need to. Okay?”

Sam sighs as he sits down opposite Dean, setting their drinks down on the low table between them. Though he looks young, there’s something about him that speaks of wisdom and experience; Dean’s a little unsettled by it, but then, he’s never gotten along well with witches as a general rule. “I can’t just send you off to face a Prince of Hell by yourself. You’ll just get yourself killed.”

Absurdly, that brings a laugh to Dean’s lips, and he nearly gets up and leaves right then and there. “Great,” he mumbles, reaching up to rub at his face. This place is getting to him, he thinks. The incense and the firelight and the mounting stress. “Of course I found the witch with a conscience.”

“Tell me what’s going on,” Sam urges him, and the genuine concern isn’t what Dean is expecting. “Please. If you explain, maybe I can help. More than just a tracking spell.”

Despite everything, it’s a tempting offer, and Dean breathes out hard. Sure, he could probably find another witch to do the spell for him- or, if all else fails, somebody who can teach him how to do it himself- but he came out here for somebody powerful, and even if Mary isn’t here, he can only assume that Sam shares some of her power. And if he’s offering to help-

“He, um- he has my dad.” Dean looks away, self-conscious. He hasn’t told a damn soul about this yet, but the loss aches like a hole in his chest. His father is the only person he’s ever had; his only family. Nobody else matters. “And I need to get him back. And kill that son of a bitch, once and for all, for doing all this shit in the first place.”

He still doesn’t know why Azazel is so interested in them. Why he’s been stalking Dean’s tiny family, or why he came for them to begin with. What, exactly, he meant when he’d promised he would find what he was looking for.

It doesn’t matter. Dean won’t let him.

Sam’s quiet for a few moments, and he looks thoughtful when Dean finally glances over. “Okay,” he says eventually. “I can help.” A pause, and then his expression hardens. “I’ll help you find him. And I’ll help you kill him.”

It’s more than Dean’s expecting, but his heart still leaps into his throat. It doesn’t seem so far out of the realm of possibility anymore. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Sam exhales before standing, turning to head to one of his bookshelves. Starts looking for something. “I, um. Azazel’s hurt my family, too. And Mother’s always said it’s best to keep under the radar and not seek him out, but-”

He cuts himself off, and Dean stays quiet. Waits. Sam’s quieter when he speaks again. “We’re not going to let him get away. Not again.”

It’s a promise, and it’s the start of something important. They’ve got a million obstacles to conquer, and Dean still doesn’t know if they’ll even be able to do what they intend to do, but he’s got a new ally and between the two of them, he thinks they might just be able to pull this off, given a lot of determination and a little bit of luck.

It’s not like he’s got anything left to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	12. Two-Hundred Twenty-Four: Orientation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> College is, quite frankly, overwhelming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College AU. Because there are never enough of those.

College is, quite frankly, overwhelming. Though Jared is still flooded with excitement for his first day, it’s hard not to let the crowds and the chaos dampen his mood. He, along with a couple hundred other freshmen in his program, have been herded into one of the football fields to meet up with their upper-year sponsors. He still feels silly for signing up for this- his mom had insisted- and on top of that, he’s now stuck with a crowd of other confused teenagers, all trying to sort their way through the mess and find the person they’ve been partnered with.

Luckily, Jared has the advantage of being nearly a head taller than everybody else in the crowd. He uses that, stretching up even further onto his tip-toes and squinting at some of the signs he can see, all with names scribbled on them, held up by the older students. He skims by them, one by one, shuffling his way through the crowd until he finally manages to see his own. Jared Padalecki, written out neatly in black marker. It’s enough, and he starts making his way in the right direction, mumbling apologies when he knocks into the other people milling about.

Before long, Jared finds the person attached to the sign with his name on it. He’s not as tall as Jared is- most people aren’t- but he’s not a small guy, either; broad-shoulders and a chiseled jaw that looks like it belongs on the front of a magazine. Dirty blond hair, green eyes, freckles- the guy is drop-dead gorgeous, and Jared thinks he might have just swallowed his own tongue. Oh.

The guy’s got a furrow in his brow, and it’s not until his eyes meet Jared’s that it smooths out. A smile grows on his face, instead, looking hopeful before he speaks, voice raised to be heard over the crowd around them. “Jared?”

Jared feels some of his anxiety melt away, and he smiles, nodding eagerly. As long as he can talk to this guy without making a completely idiot of himself, maybe this won’t be so bad, after all. “Yeah! Hi.”

“Finally.” The guy smiles, and then he reaches out and takes Jared’s arm, already turning to lead the way out of the chaos around them. “Here, let’s- just. C'mon.”

So Jared follows him, happy to escape, and happier still to do it with somebody like- well, somebody like the guy who’s leading him along. He doesn’t know how he lucked out to end up with a sponsor like this, but he’s not about to start complaining. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Jensen.” Jensen glances back to smile at him, and then they’ve reached the outskirts of the crowd and he huffs out a relieved sigh. “There we go. Man, this is a mess, huh?”

“Kind of,” Jared admits with a sheepish smile. Jensen’s still holding onto his arm, though they’re far out of the worst of it now, but he doesn’t mention it. “Is, uh- is it always this bad?”

“Orientation? Yeah, absolutely.” A firm nod, and then Jensen laughs at himself. “But forget about that. You made it here, right? It’s your first day, you’ve got a whole bunch of stuff to figure out…” He trails off, then smiles again. “Here, let’s start easy. Wanna grab a coffee? Then I can show you around, help you find all your classes.”

Jared beams because he can’t help himself. This is sounding better and better by the moment. “That sounds awesome, actually. I’m in. Lead the way.”

Jensen grins right back, and he finally lets go of Jared’s arm only to turn and start walking, only to launch right back into conversation. He asks about Jared, where he’s from, what he’s studying, how he’s liking the campus so far, and Jared is happy to fill him in, feeling more at ease by the second as he listens to Jensen’s voice and watches the cheerful look on his face and lets himself relax into the comfortable pattern of making a new friend.

Maybe it won’t be so tough to get on around here, after all. After all, he doesn’t need to face it alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	13. Two-Hundred Twenty-Five: First Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is fidgeting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brothers on their first Official Date(tm).

Dean is fidgeting. He knows that Sam notices, because his brother keeps giving him looks that are caught somewhere between concern and amusement. It’s just the two of them here, tucked away in the corner of a restaurant that’s a little nicer than their usual fare, and he knows he shouldn’t be nervous, and it’s stupid, but-

“How long’s it been since you were on a date, anyways?” Sam breaks the moment of silence between them, and Dean’s grateful. He was worried he was going to choke on it. “I mean- five years? More?”

At that, Dean makes a face. “Shut up. Hasn’t been that long.”

“A date,” Sam repeats slowly, as if Dean hadn’t heard him the first time. “Not just meeting a girl at a bar and taking her home. Like- an actual date. Y'know. Like this.”

Dean is silent. Sam knows him too well. “I dunno. A while.”

They’re both quiet for a moment, and Dean looks down at the table instead of at his brother’s face. Eventually, Sam speaks up again, a little softer. “Yeah, well… me too. Guess we’re both out of practice.”

It’s a tiny bit of comfort in this wildly unfamiliar situation. The nice restaurant, the clean shirt that Sam’s wearing, the fact that they’re not poring over a case while they wait for their food-

A date. An honest-to-god date.

Christ, it’s been years.

“We’ll manage.” Dean shrugs and tries to slip into the usual bravado. It’s easy with Sam, for the most part. Comes to him like breathing; it’s something he’s been clinging to for his entire life. “I’m the master of dating. Just wait, I’ll sweep you right off your feet.”

Sam snorts, and just like that, some of the tension dissipates. Their knees knock together gently under the table. “Yeah, you wish. More like the master of the one-night stand.”

They get to bickering, but it’s all good-natured, Dean fighting a smile the whole time as he picks out the beginning of Sam’s dimples that threaten to pop out as he teases Dean right back. It’s more comfortable this way; no pretense of doing things any differently than they usually do. Maybe they’ve been fumbling through this thing between them for a while, now, but they’ve never really kept it on the up-and-up, and maybe this is the chance to change that. Just a little bit.

When Dean reaches across the table in a moment of impulse and grabs Sam’s hand, and when Sam doesn’t pull away, and when their fingers fit together like they were made to be that way-

Yeah. Dean thinks they’ll manage just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	14. Two-Hundred Twenty-Six: Grapes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Open.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some silly and cute brothers.

“Open.”

Dean holds the grape expectantly, pretending that he doesn’t notice the unimpressed look Sam is shooting his way. They’re curled up on the couch together, and it’s movie night, and his brother had insisted on having some healthy snacks on hard (Dean is still partial to popcorn, but whatever). Grapes were on sale at the grocery store and Dean thinks that if their meal is going to be tainted by fruit, then he can at least have a little fun with it.

“C'mon, open,” he tries again, holding the grape a little bit closer as if that’ll help to convince Sam. “Isn’t this supposed to be romantic or something?”

Sam sighs heavily, then leans closer until he can gently take the grape from Dean’s fingers, chewing it for a moment and swallowing before he speaks. “You’re a dork. Haven’t you have enough of spoon-feeding me for a lifetime?”

“I’m not feeding you with a spoon.” Dean huffs in protest, then picks up another grape. Sam doesn’t resist him this time, just eating it from his fingers without question. Dean decides that he kind of likes this. “I’m hand-feeding you.”

“Like what, the goats at the petting zoo?” But there’s a hint of amusement in Sam’s expression, and he eats another grape when Dean presents it to him. “You’ve got a weird idea of romance.”

“Do not.” Dean shuffles a little bit closer. Just because. He can’t even remember what movie they’re supposed to be watching; he’s just intent on the chance to feel Sam’s lips brushing his fingertips. “This is adorable. Trust me.”

Sam laughs at him, and the two of them keep on as they have been, settled into the couch and working through the grapes. Sam even talks Dean into eating a couple for himself- right from Sam’s fingers, of course- and they’re not that bad. Not as good as popcorn, obviously, but being hand-fed by his brother on their little pseudo-date makes it a whole lot more bearable.

And whatever Sam might claim, Dean thinks it’s perfectly good and romantic. As romantic as the two of them ever manage to get, anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	15. Two-Hundred Twenty-Seven: Slipping Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Just fucking leave me alone!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Stanford angst.

“Just fucking leave me alone!”

Dean slams the door behind him with Sam’s shout ringing in his ears, his breathing ragged and his heart beating too hard in his chest. He’s dizzy and he feels like he shouldn’t get behind the wheel, but that’s exactly what he does, anyways. A matter of moments and he’s tearing out onto the road, intent on leaving his brother and their argument far, far behind him.

He isn’t going anywhere in particular. All of his focus in on staying on the road and swallowing down every horrible thing that Sam said. Every single piece of him that wanted to scream, wanted to cry; every part of him that still wants to do those things. Dean scrubs at his eyes furiously because he won’t let that happen. Not now, not even with Sam back at the motel room and nobody here to see. He won’t.

Things have been getting bad in the last few months, as tensions ramp up between Sam and their dad, and Dean’s getting tired of being caught in the middle. It’s always a balancing act with them, trying to play the peacekeeper without picking sides, and he feels like he’s being torn in two; like maybe the next fight will be the end of whatever tentative compromise exists in their little family. Like maybe he won’t be able to manage this if it gets any worse.

Maybe Sam senses that, too. Maybe that’s why he’s taken to lashing out at Dean instead of focusing all of his anger on their father.

Frustrated, Dean hits the steering wheel, hard. He can’t drive like this. Not without getting himself wrapped around a telephone pole.

He finds a spot to pull over on the outskirts of town, and when his phone rings, he ignores it, climbing out of the car to sit down hard on the hood. He’s on the last dregs of the adrenaline after the fight, and he tries to swallow it down, as if it’ll do anything to cure the awful feeling that’s beginning to come over him. A sense of realization, maybe, as he thinks back on the look on Sam’s face. The anger and frustration in his voice.

Dean is losing his little brother. Slowly, but surely, Sam is slipping away from him, and he doesn’t have a damn clue how to stop it.

Nothing has ever scared him quite as much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	16. Two-Hundred Twenty-Eight: Tense

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Christ, you’re tense.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lil massage thing. Brothers and stuff.

“Christ, you’re tense.”

Dean mumbles the words without really meaning to, all of his focus on his brother’s shoulders. Sam’s sitting on the floor between his knees while Dean rests on the couch, and Dean’s intent on smoothing out the insistent knots that have Sam’s muscles all bunched up. The poor kid’s had a sore back for weeks, and it’s only now, after a hell of a lot of convincing, that he’s agreed to let Dean help him out.

Sam, for his part, isn’t complaining about it now. He occasionally winces when Dean hits a particularly sensitive spot, but otherwise stays quiet, his eyes on the TV in front of them, though Dean doubts he’s paying very much attention to it. Judging by the way he keeps lilting to the side, leaning against Dean’s leg for support, he’s halfway to drifting off right there.

“S'not that bad,” Sam mumbles in return, and he sounds sleepy, too. It’s starting to get late, so Dean can’t blame him entirely. “Just… a bit sore.”

Dean makes a face at that. Sam’s gotten to that age where he tries to hide it when he’s hurt, and Dean doesn’t like it one bit. “Shut up. You’re all knotted up back here. I told you sleeping on the couch that time would suck.”

Sam sighs at him, then makes a startled sound when Dean finds a bad knot and starts working at it, slow and careful. “That’s- no. It was fine.”

“You’re too stubborn for your own good.” Dean sighs, this time, and lets the subject drop, continuing to work away at what he’s doing. As long as Sam’s willing to listen right now and let Dean help him this way, Dean intends on taking advantage of it to the fullest extent; he’ll make damn sure that Sam’s back is good and relaxed by the time he goes to sleep tonight.

And the next time one of them has to sleep on the couch… he won’t hesitate to volunteer. He’s just a great brother like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	17. Two-Hundred Twenty-Nine: Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a miserable day to spend outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just. A sad.

It’s a miserable day to spend outside. After hours of trekking through the forest, trying to follow a trail left by a lone werewolf through the pouring rain, Dean is soaked through to the bone. He’d finished up the hunt quickly, but it was dirty work; he’s caked in mud up to his knees, and he winces when he climbs into the car. He’ll have to give her a proper, thorough cleaning later to make up for it.

Even upon returning to the motel, things aren’t much better. The room is too cold and too empty, and the single bed that dominates the space leaves his chest aching. He does his best to shut it out, focusing instead on peeling off his wet jeans and dirty jacket on his way to the bathroom. He desperately needs a hot shower.

It’s still new, being alone. Dean has grown up in a world of hardships, but they’ve always been the kind he felt he could share; two years ago, he’s have slogged down those muddy hiking trails with his brother at his side and their dad up ahead, leading the way. Camaraderie is a miracle worker, even in the worst conditions, and now that he’s forced to experience its absence-

The water is scalding hot, and that’s enough to draw Dean’s attention for a few minutes. All he does is stand under the spray, feeling the way it slithers down his body in little streams that cut through the dirt on his skin. The water is brown on its way down the drain, and keeps running that way until it doesn’t. Still, Dean stays, closing his eyes and thinking about better times.

It’s quiet here. Too quiet with nobody else to fill the silence, and Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever, ever adjust to this.

He doesn’t ever want to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	18. Two-Hundred Thirty: Pose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared catches his lip between his teeth as he focuses, determined to get everything just right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a pretty little J2 thing. And stuff.

Jared catches his lip between his teeth as he focuses, determined to get everything just right. He’s got the sunset lighting, the right lens for the job, a gorgeous set some way into the forest, and- well. He’s got the most beautiful model that he- or anybody else, for that matter- has ever laid eyes on.

Jensen’s been a little shy since the moment they started, but he’s a natural talent; every damn day of his life might as well be a photoshoot, so this is nothing to him. And he’s always so pretty like this, with his little half-smiles and long lashes and the way he holds himself, always perfectly poised.

“Just like that,” Jared says, soft and unbidden, and Jensen smiles at him once more. He’s sitting on a fallen log, face tipped up towards the sky and putting the full, pale length of his throat on display. It’s hard to focus. “You’re perfect.”

Jensen breathes out a laugh as Jared takes a few shots, and he tilts his head to the side until their eyes meet. “You always say that.”

“It’s always true.” Jared smiles at him and moves closer. It would be a crime to miss the chance to capture Jensen’s freckles in this light; his skin has gone golden under the setting sun, and Jared thinks he could die happy right here. “I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t.”

Jensen just shakes his head, turning just so and letting Jared get another few pictures. Jared can’t say for sure whether or not he knows what he’s doing; they haven’t talked much about their lives before meeting, though Jared is wildly curious. He doesn’t want to push. “I bet you say that to all the models.”

Jared makes a face and lowers his camera, looking at Jensen with his eyes instead of his lens. Jensen’s not looking at him, his gaze focused on something in the distance again. “You’re the only model I want to have around. You know that.”

Except that maybe he doesn’t, because that’s what his eyes are saying when he glances over again. “Why?”

So Jared leans in without thinking and gives him a tiny, fleeting kiss.

Jensen’s lips are exactly as soft as they look, and the surprised breath that leaves him will linger in Jared’s dreams for weeks. Right away, he wants to do it again, but instead, he pulls back, just enough to watch Jensen’s face. Just enough to see if he’s made a mistake.

He’s met with confusion and hope, so he runs with it and leans in again. Jensen meets him halfway, this time, and Jared lets his camera hang down on its neck strap, forgotten for the moment.

He’ll lose the light in a matter of minutes, but it seems that he’s found something a little more important to occupy his time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	19. Two-Hundred Thirty-One: First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s expression is one of the utmost concentration as he rifles through his brother’s backpack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weechesters and soft things.

Dean’s expression is one of the utmost concentration as he rifles through his brother’s backpack. Lunch bag, pencil case, his favourite half-finished Batman colouring book- he’s all ready, and only once Dean is satisfied with this fact does he nod to himself and zip it shut again, turning to where Sammy’s waiting for him, all thinly-veiled excitement.

“You’re ready,” Dean tells him seriously, and Sammy beams at him, sticking his arms out so that Dean can help him get his backpack on. A moment later, and they’re ready to go, Dean pulling his own backpack close as he reaches out and takes his brother’s hand. “Let’s go, Sammy.”

For all that Dean is stressing about today, Sammy seems entirely unconcerned. He’s got a big smile on his face as they head towards the school building, having been dropped off earlier by their dad. Dad had done his own last-minute check to make sure Sammy was ready for his first day, but Dean likes to be thorough about important stuff like this. He doesn’t let go of Sammy’s hand when they reach the door, and inside, he can see the teachers all gathering their classes together. “I’m gonna help you find your teacher, okay? And if she’s not nice, we can go home.”

He’s not sure their dad would like that very much, but Sammy doesn’t seem worried. “‘Kay,” he hums, and then, “d'you think we’ll get to look at books?”

At his age, Sammy’s already eager to learn how to read, and despite the seriousness of this situation, Dean cracks a smile. “Maybe. If you ask real nice.”

“I will!”

Inside, they find the gaggle of other new kindergarteners, and Dean side-eyes the lady in front of them before turning to his brother. “You’re gonna do great. And if you need me, I’m just gonna be down the hall, okay? Just ask for me and I’ll be here.”

Sammy nods, but he’s already making half-hearted attempts to pull away, eyes fixed on his new teacher. “'Kay, De. Love you.”

With a swell of warmth in his chest, Dean tries to take a deep breath. To relax a little bit. He pulls his brother in for a quick hug. “Love you, too, Sammy.”

With that, he steps away, but his eyes stay on Sammy until he’s led off to his own classroom. He’s pretty sure he won’t be able to focus today, not knowing how his brother’s doing, but he’ll manage one way or another. He’s a smart kid, and a brave one, and Dean has faith that he’ll be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	20. Two-Hundred Thirty-Two: Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn’t do well with silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stanford angst.

Dean doesn’t do well with silence. Not when it’s like this, hanging heavy across the bench seat of the car and making it hard to breathe. With his hands on the wheel, he feels frozen in place; reaching out to turn on the radio would shatter something, no matter how badly he itches to try.

Sam’s got a sullen look on his face when Dean shoots a side-glance his way, and it makes it clear that if he doesn’t want to drown in this silence, he’s going to have to break it on his own.

“So…” Dean clears his throat, and Sam doesn’t look up. “You, uh- you makin’ friends? At school?”

In all honesty, Stanford is the last thing that Dean wants to talk about. He’s been trying his best, but these visits wear on him. Every time, it’s painfully obvious that Sam is moving on. He doesn’t need Dean in his life anymore, and Dean’s presence- these little drives they take around Palo Alto- is just a constant reminder of something that he’s firmly put behind him.

But Dean tries. He tries damn hard because he doesn’t think he’ll survive letting go.

“Yeah.” Sam’s answer is short, and he’s still looking out the window. It’s frustrating.

“Any cute girls?” Dean presses because he’s desperate. Desperate to avoid the awkward silence that threatens them; this is his brother. They’ve been best friends for their entire lives; how could something like this put such a massive gap between them?

All he gets that time is a shrug, and he takes a slow breath. Tightens his grip on the wheel. He can’t take much more of this.

“How’s class going?”

A long pause. Another shrug. “S'fine.”

That’s when Dean hits his limit, and he grits his teeth before speaking again, sharp. “Could you at least pretend like you’re trying?”

Scathing silence for a few seconds before Sam responds, tense. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m here for you.” Dean looks over, then, sees the tense line of Sam’s shoulders and the way his brother avoids his gaze and feels- feels angry. He’s mad about this, because after everything they’ve been through- “I’m here because I want to be- fuck. I wanted to be supportive, okay? You want to go to college, fine, go to college. But now you just- you just-”

“What?” Sam’s voice is a challenge, and Dean feels like they’re on the edge of some sort of precipice. He can’t see the bottom and it’s terrifying. “I just what, Dean?”

“You act like you don’t want me here.” Dean watches the road even though it doesn’t make any sense to him anymore. “Do you want me to leave?”

The silence is painful this time, and for every second that ticks by, Dean feels a knife slip between his ribs. It says more than words ever could, and at his first opportunity, he makes a sharp turn.

“I’ll drop you off at home.” He speaks curtly, and he doesn’t look up to see the confusion in Sam’s expression. “Don’t want to waste any more of your time.”

“I-” Sam tries to speak. He sounds a little overwhelmed. “Wait, Dean-”

But that time, Dean does reach out and turn on the radio. Turns it up loud on a song he knows his brother will hate and drowns out every thought that tries to whisper its way into his head, determined to drive the sword even deeper. All that matters right now is getting Sam out of the car and putting as much distance between himself and Palo Alto as humanly possible.

If Sam doesn’t want him to be a part of his life, then so be it. Dean will be fine all by himself.

Absolutely fucking fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	21. Two-Hundred Thirty-Three: Bath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sammy, come back!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cute and silly Weechesters.

“Sammy, come back!”

Even as he calls after his brother, Dean can’t stop himself from laughing as he chases Sammy around the room. Sammy’s buck-naked, shrieking and giggling as he avoids the greatest torture of them all: bathtime. Dean’s got a towel in his arms and he’s determined to catch Sammy and get him all cleaned up before bed, but right now, he has to admit that this is kind of fun.

Sammy continues to evade him, ducking down under the small kitchen table and then crawling away between the chairs. Dean circles around to cut him off, but Sammy’s already gone, his little arms stretched out in front of him as he runs straight for the bed and tries to climb up onto it. That’s his fatal mistake, because he’s still too little to get up onto it by himself- Dean usually helps him if Dad’s not around- and he wastes precious seconds struggling to scale the comforter on his own, allowing Dean to catch up.

“Gotcha!” And even now, Dean’s still laughing as he bundles Sammy up tight in his towel and scoops him up. Sammy shrieks in delight and flails around a little bit, a half-hearted escape attempt that Dean quickly squashes by blowing a raspberry into his tummy. They both dissolve into giggles after that, and Dean turns to march them both towards the bathroom. Back to business. “Time for bath, Sammy.”

Sammy seems to be perfectly content with that thought now, and just yawns at him while Dean gets him all set to go. He’s in good spirits after their little game, and Dean can’t stop himself from smiling, either.

It might be a little extra work to get him in the tub, but he thinks it’s more than worth it for these little moments.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	22. Two-Hundred Thirty-Four: Food Coma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean doesn’t think he’ll be able to move for the next hour or two, easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is silly.

Dean doesn’t think he’ll be able to move for the next hour or two, easy. He’s sprawled out on the bed he shares with his brother, Sam close by his side and just as wiped, empty Chinese takeout boxes scattered on the covers around them. It’s a story told in one picture, as Dean groans and reaches down to rub at his stomach, as if that’ll do anything to relieve the bloating.

“I ate too much,” he grumbles, even as he closes his eyes. He’s just about ready to take a nap. “But it was so good.”

Sam huffs at him, and Dean whines when his brother pokes him in the side. “You’re a bad influence.”

“Your face is a bad influence.”

The both of them fall quiet, both working through the process of digesting their excessive dinner. Dean makes a half-hearted attempt to shove some of the empty boxes off the edge of the mattress to free up some room and give himself more space to spread out. “I’m gonna sleep for a week. I’m hibernating.”

Another huff from Sam, but he doesn’t protest. Judging by the wiggling around he does to get comfy, he’s intent on joining Dean in his quest, and Dean’s more than happy to take him along.

They’ve both got homework to do, and maybe it’s a little early to conk out, but Dean’s eyelids are heavy and after a good meal, it’s easy to just let his eyes shut as he drifts off to sleep. Definitely an evening well-spent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	23. Two-Hundred Thirty-Five: Exhaustion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The longer they drive, the more worried Sam becomes about his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soft and h/c brothers.

The longer they drive, the more worried Sam becomes about his brother. Dean had insisted on taking the wheel, even though Sam knows for a fact that he didn’t sleep much last night- if at all- and Sam’s protests had just earned him a dirty look and some grumbled insults. In the passenger’s seat, he watches Dean closely, and it’s impossible to miss the way his shoulders sag, or how his eyes threaten to shut with increasing frequency as the hours tick by.

“Dean.” So he tries again. They’re both stubborn, but Sam refuses to sit back and let his brother do something stupid and get them both killed. “Pull over. You can rest, and I’ll drive for a while. Okay?”

“M'fine.” Dean doesn’t look at him, and Sam suspects that it’s because of how much focus he’s putting into staying awake. His grip on the wheel slackens before tightening, like he’s using it as an anchor. “Fine.”

Sam just watches his brother for a moment. “Every time you blink, you look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Do not.”

“You’re gonna get us wrapped around the first telephone pole we find.” Thankfully, there aren’t many out on the highway. Not many other cars, either. Sam puts on his serious voice and tries once more. “Pull over. Don’t be stubborn.”

A long few moments of silence, and Sam watches Dean watch the road. Dean’s squinting and Sam wonders how heavy his eyelids must feel right now. An eternity later, he huffs out a breath and then turns to the shoulder of the road, not bothering with his signal. “Fine.”

Sam lets out a silent breath of relief, and as soon as they stop, he’s getting out of the car, eager to get in the driver’s side and give his brother a chance to rest. By the time Sam’s climbing back in, Dean’s slid over to the passenger’s side of the car and his eyes are already closed as he gets himself good and comfy.

“Just a couple hours,” he mumbles, but the words don’t come out distinctly. Sam hums as he starts the car. “Just- just a little bit.”

Sam glances over once they’re back on the road, but Dean already looks like he’s gone. He’s snoring softly, cheek smushed up against the window, and Sam smiles to himself before looking back to the road.

Dean might be a stubborn bastard sometimes, but Sam thinks it’s worth the effort to fight past that. At least on occasion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	24. Two-Hundred Thirty-Six: Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “C'mon, try it. It’s good for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam tries to make Dean try something new.

“C'mon, try it. It’s good for you.”

Sam watches as Dean squints at him over his morning cup of coffee. They’re in a little mom and pop diner for breakfast, and for the last several minutes, Sam’s been trying to convince his brother to give something a little healthier a try. He’s got a cup of earl grey for himself, and he nudges it a little closer to Dean, as if that’ll do the trick and get him to taste it.

“I don’t want your leaf water,” Dean says, wrinkling his nose. “That’s like… salad, but in drink form. No thanks.”

“Coffee is just bean water, Dean.” Sam rolls his eyes and tries again. “Come on. You might even like it. Remember when you tried my vanilla latte?”

Dean’s eyes narrow and he looks mildly betrayed, shooting a furtive glance around himself as if somebody will overhear their conversation and accuse him of drinking anything besides pitch-black coffee. “Shut up. That didn’t happen.”

Sam’s pretty sure it did. It’s hard to forget the sound that Dean made when he tasted it for the first time. “Please? Just try a little bit?”

Several seconds of silence, and Sam listens to the quiet bustling of the diner around them. He watches Dean, and he lets his eyes get just a little bigger- just a hint of pleading, plus that little-brother charm that used to get him anything and everything he wanted. Finally, Dean caves. “Fuck. Fine, okay. Whatever.”

Sam beams, and Dean looks appropriately disgruntled as he reaches out and takes Sam’s cup. He brings it to his nose and gives it a suspicious sniff before going in for a tiny sip, and Sam watches him closely, wondering if this will actually work out. Judging by the face Dean makes, nose wrinkled up as he sets the cup back down on the table, it doesn’t.

“Leaf juice,” he grumbles, passing it back over to Sam. “Just leaf juice.”

Sam shakes his head in amusement and picks up his tea to keep drinking, allowing Dean to go back to his coffee in peace. The man needs his caffeine.

Hell, it was worth a shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	25. Two-Hundred Thirty-Seven: Limp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been months, but Dean doesn’t think he’s ever going to get used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little h/c.

It’s been months, but Dean doesn’t think he’s ever going to get used to this.

On good days, he can almost convince himself that things are like they’ve always been. His limp is barely noticable, if he works to hide it, and Sam’s learned to keep quiet about it, for the most part. They stay home and they help other hunters; it’s something they’d been leaning into, regardless, but now it’s their full-time gig. Following in Bobby’s footsteps. It feels good, though he catches himself going stir-crazy more than once. That’s when he climbs into his car and takes a tour around Lebanon. Better than nothing, and close enough to how things used to be to keep him content.

They’re not all good days, though, and when Dean wakes up this morning and feels pain shooting up his leg when he shifts in bed, he knows that this is going to be a bad one.

It was a hellhound. Always hated the fucking things, and one of them finally did him in proper. It’s a miracle he got to keep his leg at all, not that it does him much good these days. As much as he hates the cane that rests by his bed, he grabs it today because he doesn’t have a choice, and he grits his teeth, and he forces himself to get up, pain be damned.

Sam notices, because of course he does. He’s still in fighting form, thankfully- no matter how old they’re getting, he’s still Dean’s baby brother, and seeing him hurt this bad would be worse than feeling the pain himself- and he’s taken it upon himself to be Dean’s caretaker when the need arises. Dean knows he’s short with his brother on these days, tends to snap more quickly and shut people out, but Sam rides it out because he’s a saint. Maybe because he’s got some idea of what Dean’s going through.

“Morning,” Sam says when Dean hobbles his way into the kitchen, and there’s already coffee brewing, and Dean’s meds are waiting on the counter. After a few weeks of learning that alcohol didn’t quite take the edge off like he needed, Sam had gone and gotten him a prescription for some painkillers. All above-board. Dean had almost been proud. “Hungry?”

Dean eyes the pills for a moment, then just goes straight to the table, sitting down with a grunt. One of the worst parts of this is how it’s affected his stamina; he can’t stand for long stretches of time, which makes it a pain in the ass to do just about anything. Work under the car’s hood, exercise, make breakfast for himself and his brother. All of it yanked just out of reach. “Yeah. Guess so.”

He can feel Sam’s eyes on him, but Sam stays quiet, thankfully. Starts shuffling around the kitchen, presumably getting them both something to eat. Dean keeps his gaze fixed on the table, fingertips rubbing hard over the surface of his cane. It’s already worn smooth, but he likes to think that one day, he might just snap it in half, as if that would fix everything. As if it could take back what he’s lost and give him the second chance he’s been praying for; being rendered idle is slowly driving him insane, and he doesn’t know how much more of it he can take.

He should know better than to hope by now. Nobody’s ever listening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	26. Two-Hundred Thirty-Eight: Siren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In all his decades of luring men to their deaths, Jensen never does get bored of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lil J2 AU.

In all his decades of luring men to their deaths, Jensen never does get bored of it. It’s a sort of high, watching as they dash their ships into the rocks for the chance to see the face that matches his voice. Alone on his island, it’s the one thing that brings him proper joy, and as he spots another ship on the horizon- a smaller vessel; probably only carrying a dozen men- he smiles to himself, standing from his place on the rocks and taking in a deep breath.

The song comes as it always does, the most natural part of his existence. It flows along with the wind, carrying his voice to the approaching ship and, with any luck, curling around the men onboard. A small few are immune to his charms, but most fall prey. Most will gladly kill themselves and their crewmates for him, and Jensen lives and breathes for it.

As the ship grows closer, he gets a better sense of its crew. Small, as he’d suspected. Still steering clear of the island, which is curious. He can make out some kind of scuffle on the main deck, and it’s not until one of the men is abruptly thrown overboard that it makes some measure of sense. Perhaps the others have some way to avoid his song, but the odd one out poses a danger to the crew. Unfortunate for him.

Still, Jensen finds himself curious. As his comrades sail on, the man in the water struggles to keep his head above water. Probably confused by the spell, as most tend to be. He doesn’t stand much of a chance on his own, and Jensen watches as he continues to sing, noting the way the man continues to fight his way closer to the island. To the source of the song and the one who tempts him here; who got him thrown overboard to begin with.

It’s been a long time since Jensen has had any company on his island. Maybe he’ll be able to have some fun if he commits this act of mercy.

The water feels like home, and he stops singing in favour of swimming out towards his latest interest. Without the song to distract him, the man seems to be faring a little better, but he still struggles, the island a fair distance away. Jensen goes to him, cloaked in the same spell that drips honey with his voice, and when he gets close enough, it’s easy to decide that the rescue is worth the effort. Gorgeous bone structure, hazel eyes, long hair, and a fine physique; certainly a man who will be worth a few weeks of entertainment. Jensen smiles, and he hums, and the man goes limp for him, making it easy to pull him close and start the journey back to shore.

This one, he thinks, will be more than enough. At least for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	27. Two-Hundred Thirty-Nine: Regular

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jared has a favourite customer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soft J2 coffee shop AU.

Jared has a favourite customer.

He’s a regular. Jared’s pretty sure he goes to the local college, since he sometimes wears a hoodie emblazened with its name and colours, mostly on weekends or late nights. He’s got pretty green eyes and freckles on his cheeks and an aggressive fondness for his usual Americano, and Jared may or may not have a great, big crush on him.

His name is Jensen, and Jared tries not to be too obvious about it.

Today, Jensen has settled in for a long afternoon. It’s clear in the fact that he makes himself good and comfortable in the back corner of the store, cozied up beside a window. It’s his favourite seat for when he brings in his laptop and spends hours at a time working away at whatever brings that frustrated little furrow to his brow- Jared hasn’t worked up the courage to ask quite yet- and he orders the same thing as always, plus a sandwich. He’s going to be here for a while.

One of Jared’s coworkers brings him his order while Jared works the cash, and Jensen’s eyes don’t lift from his screen. As things slow down after the lunch rush and people slowly start to file out, Jared’s got a little more time to watch Jensen work, and he catches himself staring a few too many times.

Jensen doesn’t look terribly pleased with whatever he’s doing, obviously stressed. Though he keeps quiet and to himself, the clicking of his keyboard is all that Jared can think about, and curiosity continues to overwhelm him. He wants to know more about their mysterious customer, and he wants to be the guy’s friend, and- and okay, maybe he kind of wants Jesen’s number, too, but-

Jared’s staring proves useful when he notices Jensen finish up his drink. He doesn’t stand or make any move to leave, so Jared does his job and goes right about making another coffee. Just how Jensen always takes it, because one is never enough on a day like today. He grabs a little bonus from the baked goods on his way over, too.

Jensen’s still deep in his work when Jared comes by his table, though he pauses as Jared sets down the coffee. He even glances up, and that’s enough for Jared’s heart to skip a beat; god, as if he wasn’t beautiful enough from a distance. It’s hard to make eye contact with him, but Jared still manages to smile. “How’s it going?”

His heart is pounding too hard in his chest, but when Jensen responds, it all feels worth the effort. “It’s, uh… well. It’s going, I guess.” He pauses, then, looking at his drink. “I didn’t order another one yet.”

“You looked like you needed it.” Jared stops, then tries to backpedal. “I don’t- I don’t mean you look tired or anything, just- I thought you might- you know. Coffee. Never a bad time for coffee, right?”

He must be bright red by the time he fumbles through to the end of that, but before his eyes, Jensen cracks a smile, and he feels like his heart might just leap out of his chest right then and there. “I can get on board with that.” Jensen glances back at his screen for a moment, then towards Jared again. “Thanks… Jared, right?”

Jared almost asks, but then remembers he’s got a name tag on. “Yeah, that’s me. Oh, and, um-” He feels shy, suddenly, but he’s already got the cookie wrapped up nice, so he sets it on the table beside Jensen’s cup and offers him a tiny smile. “That one’s on the house.”

Before Jensen can say anything else, Jared turns and hurries back behind the counter, feeling like he’s on cloud nine. It hadn’t been much of a conversation, and he’s pretty sure he came off as over-excitable and weird, but Jensen had spoken to him, and that’s all that matters for now.

Jensen doesn’t leave for another few hours, and when he does, he passes by the counter to drop off a generous tip. Jared floats his way home that night, and wonders if his favourite customer will be back tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	28. Two-Hundred Forty: The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean still isn’t sure how he managed to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An Endverse thing.

Dean still isn’t sure how he managed to do it. It feels like he’s stuck in a fever dream, with his little brother sitting quietly beside him, not a trace of Satan left behind. He’s still wearing the stupid white suit, and it’s bloodstained, now, and Dean wants to burn it, but he can’t get past the lump in his throat. Not yet.

Eventually, Sam is the one to break the silence. He clears his throat gently, and Dean doesn’t look up, eyes fixed on the overgrown grass beneath his feet. The two of them on a park bench like the world hasn’t ended before their eyes. “I’m sorry.”

It’s not what Dean is expecting to hear, and he frowns. Even Sam’s voice sounds wrong; it’s not the way Lucifer spoke, and it’s not something he’s heard from his brother since- since before. Long, long before. “What?”

“For- all of this.” Sam sounds choked up, and when Dean finally looks at him, he looks every bit the kicked puppy. Some long-buried thing in Dean’s chest aches at the sight. “It’s all my fault. If I just… if I hadn’t said yes-”

“Stop it.” Dean breathes out hard, and he waits until Sam looks his way. “You can’t- don’t do that. You couldn’t have stopped him, Sam. Even if- even if you didn’t say yes, he would’ve found some other sorry schmuck to do it, instead. Okay?”

They both sit in silence for a few seconds, and the eye contact becomes too much for Dean. He turns his eyes back to the ground, and when he speaks again, his voice is quiet. “And if I hadn’t left you, we could’ve… we could’ve fought it together. We could’ve won.”

There’s a tiny rustle of clothing, and Dean nearly jumps out of his skin when Sam’s head comes to rest on his shoulder. It’s a position that’s familiar from their childhood, and he feels like he might cry. “We did win,” Sam says, quiet and determined. “We’re here. We beat him.”

With the world crumbled to ashes and rubble around them, it’s hard for this to feel like a victory. There’s no telling how long it could take humanity to recover, or if it ever will, especially with the Croats still running around. It’s a wasteland full of hardened survivors, and Dean has enough trouble getting by on the daily without needing to worry about tomorrow.

But.

He’s got Sam at his side now. He takes a deep breath and turns to bury his nose in his brother’s hair, and things don’t feel quite so daunting anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	29. Two-Hundred Forty-One: Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “De, kisses!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weechesters followed by Wincest.

“De, kisses!”

Dean smiles his way through their usual bedtime routine, helping Sammy get washed up before putting him into his pyjamas. Dad’s out for the night, and Dean’s been given the same instructions as always. Don’t answer the door, don’t go outside, watch out for Sammy. It’s what he’s used to, and it’s something he’s come to like over the years, especially as his brother’s gotten a little bigger and a little better at participating.

After they’re done in the bathroom and all dressed for bed, Dean helps Sammy up onto the big mattress and then climbs up beside him. They both take a little while to get situated, and then Dean leans over to turn off the light, and then there’s the final touch that sends Sammy to sleep.

He’s been doing this since he knew how to ask in the first place, and Dean doesn’t hesitate, leaning in and giving Sammy a peck on each cheek, and then one on the lips as his brother giggles. Dean snuggles down into bed after that and hugs Sammy close, happy to have his little bundle of warmth to hold onto.

“Night, Sammy,” he hums, eyes already closed. Sammy yawns at him, and that’s the end of their conversation, and Dean drifts off feeling cozy and content.

///

“Kisses, De?”

Sam’s a little older now, deep into his teen years and all grown up for the fact. He’s got mile-long legs and pretty pink lips and a way of speaking that makes it very, very hard not to do what he asks.

Dean thinks he’s a little bit in love.

Dad’s gone, like he usually is, and it’s just the two of them in the room. Their bedtime routine has changed over the years, but still ends the same way; the two of them curled up close despite the spare bed, and Sam blinking big hazel eyes up at his big brother, asking for something that’s supposed to be innocent.

Not that it is, these days.

Dean doesn’t hesitate the way he did when they started this, closing his eyes as he leans in. One kiss for each of Sam’s cheek, and then one on the lips. It lingers for a few seconds longer than anything should when it comes to his little brother, but Sam hums and presses closer and Dean figures he’s doing okay.

“Night, Sammy,” he murmurs without pulling away, and Sam still fits perfectly into his arms, no matter how tall he’s gotten.

“Night, Dean.” When Sam pulls away, it’s just to bury his face in Dean’s neck and press a few tiny kisses of his own to exposed skin. He settles there, and Dean shivers, holding on tight to the most important person in the whole entire world.

It’s easy to fall asleep like this. The guilt faded a long time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	30. Two-Hundred Forty-Two: Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Watching Sam prepare himself to leave is a dizzying thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That first line is terribly misleading. Uh. More witch!Sam.

Watching Sam prepare himself to leave is a dizzying thing. Maybe the herbal smells that pervade the cabin are just starting to get to him, but Dean struggles to follow everything that he young man does as he flits around the room; he gathers amulets, different ingredients, a small bag whose contents Dean doesn’t see- maybe it’s the kid’s first time on the road like this. Maybe he hasn’t left the safety of this forest before.

“Are you going to leave a message?” Dean asks to break the silence. Sam doesn’t look up. “For your mother? She’ll worry, won’t she?”

Sam does pause at that, and his brow furrows. Dean wonders, idly, what kind of relationship the two of them have. Dean didn’t even know that Mary had a son, but that doesn’t say much. Plenty of hunters don’t know about John Winchester’s kid until they meet. “I’ll leave a note. She’ll contact me if she needs to.”

Dean wants to pry, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stands from his place on the couch, the empty tea cup left on the table in front of him. It’s got him feeling warm and energized; he tries not to wonder about what was in it. “Alright. Just about ready?”

“Yeah.” Sam hums, and a moment later, he turns to Dean with his bag over his shoulder. “You walked here?”

“From the road, yeah.” Dean watches Sam uncertainly for a moment. “Could you like… portal us back?”

At that, Sam laughs. A quick, surprised laugh. “You- no. No, I can’t portal us anywhere. Sorry. We’ll have to hike it out.”

It’s hard not to smile at the look on Sam’s face, even as Dean feels himself redden out of sheepishness. “Uh- right. Sorry.”

Sam smiles back at him, then turns towards the door to lead the way out. “We’d better get started, then. Let’s go.”

Dean follows Sam out and gives one last glance to the interior of the eccentric little cabin. If its owner is anything like it, then he’s got a feeling he’s in for one hell of a ride in their hunt for the demon.

“Let’s go,” he echoes quietly. This far down the road, he doesn’t have any other choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


	31. Two-Hundred Forty-Three: Bleeding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Christ, Sammy,” Dean mumbles, and he knows he sounds scared, but Sam’s bleeding and he can’t help himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little hurt!Sam.

“Christ, Sammy,” Dean mumbles, and he knows he sounds scared, but Sam’s bleeding and he can’t help himself. Even if he knows it’s not fatal, even if this isn’t worth going to the hospital. He’s got an arm around his brother to support him while they walk and it feels like he isn’t doing enough. “Talk to me.”

“Dean, I’m good.” And Sam sounds sure if himself, but his shirt is sticking to his skin, and his breathing hitches when they move too fast, and Dean can’t stand to see him like this. “Just- just take it easy. I’m good.”

Dean doesn’t believe him. They reach the car and he bundles Sam into the passenger’s side before starting to fret all over again. They’ve got gauze in the back, and bandages, and- shit, where’s the bleeding even coming from, anyways? “Okay, just- just keep still. Hold on. Fuck.”

“Dean.” Sam’s talking to him again, but all Dean’s focused on is trying to tug Sam’s shirt up and out of the way without aggravating the wound. It’s on his side, Dean thinks. Claw marks. “Slow down. Dean, hey.”

Dean doesn’t stop until Sam grabs his wrist. His grip is steady, and that by itself is enough to calm Dean down. Just a little bit. “I’m okay. Take a breath.”

Dean does as he’s told and breathes, eyes slipping shut. Sam doesn’t let go, and without all the blood in front of him, it’s easier to focus. Sam speaks again, soft. “Let’s get back to the room, okay? Then I’ll get all cleaned up. Sound good?”

Dean breathes out slow. Manages to crack a joke. “If you bleed all over my seats, you have to clean them. With a toothbrush.”

There’s a smile in Sam’s voice when he responds. “Deal.”

So Dean stands himself up, wipes the blood off his hands, and circles around to his side of the car. He climbs in and starts the engine and then they’re on the road headed back into town, Sam keeping up absent conversation that Dean suspects is solely for his benefit.

He hates seeing his little brother hurt, even now that they’re all grown up. Sam’s usually pretty good at helping him with it, though. At least a little bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3


End file.
